


The Last Rose of Summer

by disgruntledwriter



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Coming of Age, Daedra, Daedric worship, First Crush, First Love, Gen, Grey-Asexuality, M/M, Mages, Mages Guild, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre Oblivion Crisis, Pre-Canon, Romance, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2265603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledwriter/pseuds/disgruntledwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was 3E 413 when Martin was accepted into the prestigious Arcane University in the Imperial City. He's everything that most of the students hate - a commoner rebelling against his predetermined place in the world. He worked hard to get where he was with magic, and there are those who do not believe that he should be anywhere else but his father's farm. Soon he has to contend with these students, avoid succumbing to peer pressure from his new friends, learn to become a powerful mage, and on top of all of that, he has to maneuver his way through the awkwardness of falling in love for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Left Blooming Alone

**Author's Note:**

> So, I thought that Martin kind of deserved more detail on what happened while he was a mage and was into worshipping Sanguine. This is the result. It isn't perfect, it isn't long and detailed, but I just hope that it brings Martin to life a bit more.

Dawn was breaking over the small shack. It was a scrawny thing – a roughly built wooden house; the walls were splintering and the shutters were unevenly hinged onto the windows, and they were only square shaped breaks in the walls. The roof had survived many a hard rainfall, but the walls offered next to no protection from the elements. When it snowed (which wasn’t often, granted), the walls only let in the cold, numbing air which could knock out the fire that had been so carefully kindled. When it was hot and humid, the air didn’t circulate, so the house was constantly the temperature of one of Morrowind’s famous volcanoes.

As the sun rose, each of the plants being cultivated on the land next to the shack turned their leaves to face the bright light. The pumpkin crops were the first to turn, then the corn and finally the wheat stalks. Soon the birds began to wake, and the air filled with birdsong. But two men were already awake. They were both stood outside, watching the world awaken.

“I’m going to miss this place,” the younger of the two said. “It just has such a peaceful nature to it.”

“You can always come back,” the older smiled, his eyes full of hope, edged by wrinkles that showed his years. His dark grey hair would place his age at his late forties – an age that would merit amazement at the sheer length, being one of his social standing.

“I’ll try Father,” the younger said to the other, despite the two having no resemblance, except that they were both Imperials. By looking at them, you wouldn’t think that they were family at all – both hair and eye colour were different, as well as the build of their bodies. The son was more heavily set than his father, who looked more waifish. The son pulled his bag higher onto his shoulder and wrapped his forest green cloak closer around his body. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you, Martin, my son.” The man pulled his son into a hug. “I’ll be waiting for you. Have you got everything you need?” His brown eyes were rimmed with tears, but he pretended not to notice. That or he had finally accepted that his son was leaving him.

“I think so,” Martin said as they parted, flicking his excessively long brown hair out of his face. He had hardly reason to ever cut it – it was manageable, and usually he just tied it up in a ponytail, as it was now. It was his unruly fringe that wanted to constantly cover his eyes.

“Oh wait a second,” Martin’s father ran back inside the shack. Martin stood still, breathing in the cold air of mid Hearthfire. As he exhaled, tendrils of misty breath twisted into the bright, yet overcast sky. The air stung his damp eyes, covering them in their own frosted feeling. The ground beneath his pigskin shoes was damp, and was crowned with the frozen morning dew. Soon enough, his father emerged from the home that Martin had known as his for the best part of twenty six years, with something hidden behind his back. “These are for you,” The man brought out a small package wrapped in pale blue fabric.

Martin gently took the fairly light gift, which warmed his hands with the regular, familiar pulse of Magicka, unravelling it with the utmost care. An amulet containing the clearest of blue gems found itself in his palm. A gold chain looped around the top of the gem, holding its place by what looked like golden branches. Martin saw his face reflected by the stone, and as he stroked his thumb over it, he could feel his magicka become stronger. “It was your mother’s. Apparently it was cut from one of those Ayleid stones – I think the man that looked at it said it was a Welkynd one.” Martin bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from tearing up again. “And the fabric is a hood actually.” Martin fixed the amulet around his neck. The hood, Martin saw, was pale blue velvet, far more expensive, due to the rarity of such a fabric, than what a farmer like his father could ever afford in his lifetime. But Martin knew that he would have bought it using Septims from legitimate means.

Martin raised his brow, wincing slightly, his lips curved in a frown. “How much did this cost you?”

“Enough,” was all his father said. It had a simple design – only being lined with fox fur and with a golden cord edge. “A Hood of Conjugation, I seem to remember the mage saying.” _Conjuration_ , Martin wanted to correct, but he knew that it didn’t actually matter. But before he could answer anyway, he was being enveloped in another hug. Martin breathed in his scent of earth and roast pumpkin, for he knew he would not smell it again for a long while. His father had managed to fit the hood over his head and was pulling it up. His rough, scarred and calloused hands brushed his face at times, sending Martin back to his childhood. “Now, be off with you. It’s a long ways to the City.” He said, fixing the hood to his cloak, with Martin looking a state with both colours together. Martin knew he would have to change before he reached the Arcane University, lest he be judged for his poor fashion choices.

He gave his father a quick kiss on the cheek, brushing his almost beard-like stubble against his father’s fully fledged beard. His father clasped his hands briefly, pressing them to his lips. “I hope your journey is swift and easy,” he said with his ever calming voice, “and I hope that you encounter no bandits. Remember, son, rest often, for you never know when you need your strength.”

“I will, Father, and I hope that your next harvest is bountiful.” Finally, both men broke down in tears. “And I promise that I will come back and visit you.”

“You’ve definitely got everything? Enough changes of clothes? Money? I think I have some extra Septims lying about somewhere...”

“Father, I’m fine. Now I’m going to leave before I start crying again.” And with that, Martin turned on his heel and strode away from the man who had shaped him. He didn’t look back. It would be too painful. Of course the man of twenty six was excited to start his new life, in the Imperial City, studying at the Arcane University no less, but a voice in his head told him that he wouldn’t make it and that he’d be back on the farm in no time. He wanted to prove the voice wrong, and yet, he knew it was right.

He wouldn’t last a day alone.

* * *

 

The trip to the Imperial City was uneventful to say the least. Martin had encountered highwaymen, Khajiit with a sword or a mace that looked too heavy for them to be holding. In their purring voices, they demanded money, his possessions. But his Hood of Conjuration sent surges of magicka through Martin’s fingertips, bringing daedric creatures from the depths of Oblivion. Scamps that he – slightly pitifully – summoned, wishing instead for an atronach of some kind to chase away the overenthusiastic bandits. The scamps did the job though, making the highwaymen and bandits escape over water, letting Martin keep his drakes.

Martin rested at inns along the road, none particularly of note, most comfortable enough (more comfortable than what Martin had ever been accustomed to) and had cheap and filling enough fare. The innkeeps were amiable, if slightly callous, and paid him no trouble. One inn that was worth note was the Inn of Ill Omen, if only purely down to the deceptive name. It was pleasant.

Along the road, he passed traders with their goods in carts behind them, couriers for the Black Horse Courier, nobles upon horseback, flanked every which way by their personal guard, and even a Bosmer father and daughter, who could have been no older than six years old. He gave Martin a smile as they passed, his daughter asleep on his back, her head resting against his quiver. Then the man suddenly turned his head to the trees, seemingly had heard something, and ran off in that direction.

He reached Weye on the third day, the little settlement just in front of the city. There were no more than three houses and an inn, but Martin knew that there would be lodgings waiting for him when he reached the Arcane University, as well as food. A young Breton man was just leaving his house, a fishing rod in hand, and tipped his hat to the mage. He returned with a smile, and took a deep breath before crossing Lake Rumare, ready to finally start his new life.

The bridge that connected Weye to the Imperial City was grand, and even to say that was a bit of an understatement. Carved from grey stone, the bridge stretched from Weye to the stables, in front of the Imperial City, and was lit by large stone pedestals that carried ever-burning flames. Martin had never been to the City in his entire life, and just standing on the bridge filled him with anxiety. How would he know where to go? Did he have to awkwardly ask guards, after wandering aimlessly for several hours?

The Imperial City originated in the time of the Aldmer and the Ayleids – the architecture filled Martin with awe, the sheer beauty of the construction sent shivers down his spine. He had passed Ayleid ruins on the way here, great stone structures where cities once flourished, now overgrown with vines and inhabited by rogues. He had wished to investigate them, but time was short and he needed to reach the Arcane University on time.

The Talos Plaza was alive with people going about their daily routine. The great statue of Akatosh stood in the centre, protecting the citizens of the City and everyone who came to visit. Martin was not an overly pious man, of course he believed in the Nine Divines, but to him, they weren’t that important. He hardly saw the effect of them on Tamriel or in his life. They seemed to not do anything really.

He deliberated over asking someone for directions for a good five minutes. He paced around the Plaza, avoiding the imposing gaze of Akatosh. Martin decided that it was best if he asked which way to go, so he stopped an Imperial guard that was patrolling the streets.

“Excuse me, sir.” Martin said, standing in front of the guard’s path.

His helmeted head inclined upwards, to see who had interrupted his task. “What is it, citizen?”

“Where might I find the Arcane University?”

“Ah, a mage, are you? Well, if you go straight through Talos Plaza, you’ll find your way to the Imperial Palace. The second path on your right will take you to the Arboretum. It’s a lovely place. Continue straight through there and you’ll find yourself on the bridge to the Arcane University. Cross that and you’ll be there.”

Martin was still processing the information when the guard had stopped talking. It took him another moment to picture his path in his mind. “I think I’ve got it. Thank you.”

“If you get lost, don’t hesitate to ask another guard. I’m sure they’ll be happy to help.”

And with that, Martin nodded at the guard, continuing on through the Talos Plaza. As he walked around the statue of Akatosh, he couldn’t help but feel like he was being watched. Perhaps it was the fact that his clothes did not match, after all, Talos Plaza was arguably the richest part of the City, full of noblemen with an acute sense of fashion. He ignored the feeling, and walked onto Green Emperor Way with his new life on his mind.

* * *

The White-Gold Tower seemed even larger close up. It blocked out the high sun, casting a shadow that bathed Green Emperor Way in darkness. Martin thought how his father would have loved to have seen this. He had tried to teach his father some things he had learnt while attending the Mages Guild in Bravil. It was the closest city to their farm. And it wasn’t particularly nice.

It was easily the poorest city in Cyrodiil. The houses were no more than shacks. Even the Mages Guild was not particularly well outfitted. Nor the Fighters Guild, from the looks of the outside (Martin had not dared to go in there, for fear that he would be attacked). It smelt constantly of all manner of vile things. Martin had not tried to distinguish the different scents, but all he knew was that they weren’t pleasant. Castle Bravil was the only nice building in the entire city, and that was because it was a castle.

Martin usually wondered if the count or countess – he didn’t know which, since he cared not, and nobility was all the same to him – actually cared about their citizens. Poverty, starvation and crime were rife in Bravil, and he was just glad that he lived outside of it, since he and his father were rarely bothered.

Martin wondered how widespread crime was here. If he was to live here for perhaps the rest of his life, he ought to know really. To walk around the great stone palace to the Arboretum took twenty minutes. He estimated that it would take an hour just to go around the whole thing. The palace was too large for one Emperor, what on Nirn could take up so much room? And to live with a graveyard all around, it wasn’t particularly a prime location. Stone statues of prominent figures stood between the graves of equally as prominent people. Dead Emperors were interred somewhere that nobody knew about, except a select few. Of course, after their bodies are on display for everyone to see. It wasn’t a dignified way to treat the dead, but if it was the tradition, so be it. Some lucky Emperors got to stay in the Imperial City – not much liked ones, but Emperors nonetheless. There was a tomb that looked like it suited royalty just in front of where the turn off for the Arboretum was, but Martin didn’t really care. They were Emperors, unaware that he even existed.

The Arboretum, like the guard had said, was indeed a lovely place. Statues of the Nine Divines encircled the gazebo in the middle. Flowers of all sorts flourished and bloomed in a very cultivated way. It was all very precise, and all very beautiful. If Martin ever were to get married, it would be here. But first, he would have to find someone willing to commit themselves to him. He walked around the gazebo, passing gods he hardly cared for, picking a stray, overgrowing rose as he passed. The smell was intoxicating, a new smell, and the perfect scent to start his new life as a mage, living and learning with likeminded people.

He could get used to living so close to such an amazing place.

* * *

“Welcome to the Arcane University,” said a battlemage that opened the door for him. He looked like a Legion soldier, but was wearing a blue hood instead of the usual helmet.

“Thank you,” Martin absent-mindedly said back, instead walking down the steps down to the main level. The whole thing was cobbled, lit by dancing braziers of purple flame. Somehow, the flame made the air around him the perfect temperature. Martin had hardly learnt Destruction magic, and to think he could one day conjure flames of different, beautiful colours filled his heart with joy. He would be able to go home and impress his father. Put on a lovely fire display for him. Martin smiled.

He climbed the stairs to the building that he guessed housed the Main Lobby, and only was just feeling the exhaustion in his legs. He reached up his hand to open the door, but it opened when his hand was inches away from the wood. It swung open on its hinges, but seconds before, he thought he saw the carving of Akatosh flash red. Martin thought he was mistaken. Why would they glow for him? He was the boy of a farmer. Or so he had been told to think. Most of the days now were full of doubt of that. He imagined that he was something greater, someone important, but then he was brought back down again, with the memories of his childhood on the farm.

The only way he could become important was if he was to become an all-powerful mage. And for that to happen, he would need to study. 


	2. All Her Lovely Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin reaches the university, and his new life. But when he arrives, something else greets him - a strange feeling he'd never experienced before.

A rather authoritative-looking Argonian, armed with a quill and a book, was the first living impression of the Arcane University and of Argonians in general. And frankly, she was rather rude. Her spectacles were pushed up right in front of her eyes – how they stayed there, Martin did not think to ask. Her scales were not bright, denoting her age, but her clothes were, and even with Martin’s lack of fashion taste, they were not particularly flattering. It was a blue and green dress, one that he had seen many women wearing as he has passed through the Talos Plaza.

“Name?” she croaked, but her voice was still strong and commanding. Martin was too frightened to answer. He blinked rapidly a few times, to get his brain working again. But he stood stock still, like a rabbit about to be killed. She sighed. “Are you Martin?” Martin swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat and nodded. “We have no surname on record for you; it would seem that the Bravil Mages Guild neglected to include that on your recommendation.”

Martin had finally plucked up the courage to speak. “I... have no surname.”

“Oh, I see. Well, stand over there with the others,” she said, indicating behind her, where a congregation of young mages was forming. “My name is Professor Born-Under-Stars.”

The Professor was already speaking to another member of the guild by the time Martin had managed to move his feet. He shuffled over to the group, and ran his shaking fingers through his greasy, unwashed hair. He could feel his heart pounding heavily in his chest, throat and in his ears. The other mages were already deep in conversation, about all manner of magical things. He caught the end of an interesting conversation about the properties of Doomstones, some in the conversation even adding their own stories and experiences. Martin could only stay on the fringes, having hardly ever left his farm, and his knowledge limited to the books that he had read and the few things he had learnt while being an associate in Bravil.

Soon though, a young female mage spoke up at the front of the group. She levitated above the tallest apprentice, a Nord who looked like he should be wielding a warhammer instead of a spell. Her hair was so dark, that it was almost a midnight black, with dark brown eyes to match. Then another mage rose to join her. They looked almost identical, despite the fact that one had the beginnings of a beard and eyes that were far lighter, and the other had none but had far sharper features.

Something unfamiliar tingled in Martin’s chest. His heart beat faster than it had ever done before, his ears felt red hot, which then spread to his forehead and neck. His breath quickened, and he felt like he was about to collapse. He tried to slow his breathing, but it did no good. His head was still swimming.

The female – Breton, Martin had determined before he began to heat up – began to speak. Martin did all he could to cool himself down, took off his cloak and his hood, and began to let out deeper breaths. “Now, welcome to the Arcane University. My name is Marie, and this is my brother, Valerian.” Martin instinctively made a mental note of the name. He spoke it over and over in his mind, committing it to memory. Valerian gave a curt nod. “Now, if you’d like to follow us, we will show you around.” And with that their levitation spell cut out, but as they fell, they gave the impression that they were not man, but feathers. They certainly fell like them, landing softly on the ground with the same grace.

Martin found himself trying to jostle his way to the front, to be closer to the guides. Of course, the Nord was still blocking his view of them, and the Nord’s overly loud, deep voice stopped Martin from overhearing their conversation. It seemed to Martin that the Nord was struggling to impress a Dark Elf that wasn’t having any of it. She simply flicked her dark red hair out of her face and slipped to the back. Martin did his best to not attract his attention, but his eyes caught him anyway. At least he was closer to the front.

“Ho, Imperial!” he bellowed. Martin winced at the sound. “What’s your name? The stuffy Dark Elf refused to give me hers. I am Calthar Icehammer, of Windhelm.”

“My name’s Martin.” Martin’s voice was so quiet he was unsure if Calthar had even heard him.

“Lad, you’ll have to speak up for me to hear you.”

Martin tried to be louder. “Martin, my name’s Martin.”

“Nartim? What kind of name is that?” he started laughing all too loudly.

Just as Martin was about to lose all his patience and scream his actual name, he felt a hand on his arm. He opened his eyes and was looking at Valerian. Unlike his sister, his eyes were a glassy blue. He was extremely pale, paler than the other Bretons Martin had met or seen, including Marie. “I believe he said his name was Martin, Calthar, not Nartim.” He gave a small laugh. Martin averted his eyes, his heart having fluttered again. But when he did look up, he saw that Calthar was now hounding Marie just in front of them, and he was walking with Valerian.

His cheeks flushed. His throat felt raw and uneasiness settled in his stomach. Valerian was holding out his arm. Martin grappled with whether he should take it or not. After not feeling any contact, he spoke. “I’m blind, not ill, Martin. And if you don’t, I’m afraid I’ll walk into a wall.” He laughted softly. Martin resolved to link arms with him. He wondered whether Valerian could hear his pounding heart or feel the heat radiating off him. “Martin, are you all right? You seem awfully silent.”

It hurt him to speak. “No, no. I’m fine.”

Valerian placed a hand on his forehead. “You are running a fever, are you sure you are well?”

Martin nodded, but then realised that his could not see it. He swore in his mind at his stupidity and said that he was indeed quite well. But he knew that Valerian could tell that he was lying, and Valerian did not press him further.

He instead changed the subject. “So, Martin, where are you from?”

“Near Bravil,” he said in his small voice.

“Bravil, I have not had the pleasure of visiting there.”

“Visiting there would not be a pleasure, I assure you.” Martin snorted. Embarrassed, he covered his mouth.

Valerian laughed in response, a hearty laugh that sent a shockwave through Martin’s body, hurting him. “I am from Cheydinhal, but my parents come from High Rock, but you could probably tell that.”

Martin smiled to the ground. He tried to think of questions, but all bar one vanished from his mind. “How long have you been at the University for?”

“Quite a long time actually. I came when I was twenty or so, and I’ll be thirty on my next birthday. So, ten years.”

“And your sister?” Martin said, watching Calthar fail to interact with her, like the Dunmer.

“About the same. We are twins, you know. And despite me being the older by a few minutes, she always treats me like the younger.” He blinked a few times. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No. It is just my father and me.”

“Having siblings is not all it’s cracked up to be, I have to say.”

Valerian laughed again and Martin was unsure that he could take another shockwave, but he was feeling slightly more comfortable talking, despite his head throbbing with every beat of his heart. “Do you specialise in a specific school of magic?”

“Illusion and Mysticism. I find that they suit me better than the other schools. What about you?” The truth was that Martin hadn’t specialised. He knew a bit of everything, but he didn’t know what he wanted to learn exactly. Conjuration, with the power to summon creatures to do his bidding seemed fun, but so did Destruction. “Martin?” He realised that he had been thinking this entire time, and had not responded.

“I don’t know yet.” He looked up from his feet and found the group was midway through listening to Marie give her tour. “I think I should be listening to this.”

Valerian tapped him on his forearm. “Don’t fret. I’ll give you a proper tour later.”

The thought of being with Valerian for a tour, alone, filled him with anxiety. He wondered how he looked, panicking away, fretted about his appearance, and then remembered that he couldn’t see him. He must seem ridiculous. He didn’t know why he was acting this way, why he cared so much. He had never been like this before. He had met people – there were plenty in Bravil – but Valerian made him feel on edge.

He didn’t even realise he had responded. Valerian said, “I’ll see you then. I look forward to it.”

Marie explained what all of the buildings did. The Chironasium was where you went for enchanting services. The Master of Illusion frequently could be found here, Valerian added. He also mentioned that the new apprentices would need its services soon, but didn’t say why. The Lustratorium was the alchemical centre. The Mystic Archives was the greatest library Martin had ever seen, and Martin was just itching to borrow some books from there. The Praxographical Centre was used for spell making. There was a small garden outside the Lustratorium with many exotic plants and alchemical ingredients. The Practice Rooms, the Imperial Orrery and the Mage Quarters were also shown to the apprentices, all of which were pretty self-explanatory.

Martin found the entire place rather inspirational. The atmosphere of learning was intoxicating. Purple fires helped to illuminate the site, but nothing natural seemed to sustain them. Martin thought to ask Valerian whose spell allowed them to remain, but his question died in his throat.

They were allowed to settle into their quarters before they were to be summoned to meet the Arch-Mage. Three mages to a room. Martin thanked whoever was listening for not putting him in the same room as Calthar, who he could hear down the corridor. He was assigned a room with an Argonian and a Khajiit, who only seemed to talk to each other. Another Argonian came to visit them, pushing him out of the room, telling him to find a different room to live in.

It appeared that he would have to sleep somewhere else. He knocked on doors, but mostly, he was met with rejections. Then, he came across Valerian’s room. The quarters for apprentices and other ranks of the guild were all interspersed. Except the Arch-Mage (who had his tower) and the scholars, for they had to sleep in the basement.

Valerian did not get up to open the door, he simply used a spell. His room was better furnished than any of the apprentices’ rooms, with more expensive fabrics as curtains and bed coverings, and there was only one bed, which he was sat on.

“Who is it?” Valerian asked to the doorway.

“It’s Martin.”

He visibly relaxed a little. “Oh, Martin. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been kicked out of my room. I don’t know where I’m supposed to sleep.”

Valerian thought for a moment. “Calthar knocked on my door earlier. His Argonian roommate left to find another room.”

“Ah,”Martin breathed, with an edge of disappointment.

“I can understand why you wouldn’t want to share a room, but I'm afraid you don’t have much choice.”

“Quite. Thank you.”

Jovially, Valerian said, “Not a problem!”

Martin closed the door behind him, rolling his eyes and taking a deep breath. The exchange had sent his heart racing again. Was he ill? These involuntary actions were irritating him. Then, Calthar passed by. “Ho, Martin, my friend! Do you need somewhere to sleep?” Instead of shouting at him loud enough so that he could hear, Martin nodded. “Come, friend!”

Calthar’s room was like the one he had been kicked out of, but there were only two beds. “I tried to get that Dark Elf to share a room with me, but she was being a bit frosty. Surprising from a place with lots of volcanoes, eh?” Martin didn’t respond, just putting down his things on the unoccupied bed. “I was nice, I gave the Argonian the bed with a window, but he glared at me and left. I didn’t know what I did wrong.”

 _Of course you don’t._ Martin watched as he propped up his giant battleaxe against the foot of his bed. Martin hoped that Calthar did not sleepwalk or do things in his sleep; otherwise he would end up with an axe in his back. At least Valerian’s room was close by. Thinking of him made Martin blush.

Calthar noticed. “What’s wrong, lad? You’re as red as a tomato.”

“Nothing.”

“You know, I go red thinking about asking the Dark Elf out on a date, the Arboretum seems like a very romantic spot. You thinking of asking the levitating girl out on a date?”

 _Marie?_ “What? No. No.” She was pretty, Martin thought, but no. He didn’t even know what being attracted to someone felt like, nor had he ever asked someone out on a date.

“Well, if Dark Elf doesn’t work out, honestly, I wouldn’t hesitate. Well, I’ll be looking for Frosty if you need me.” 

Calthar winked at Martin and left the room with a slam of the door. Martin was left thinking about what Calthar had said. Did he feel like this because he thought Valerian was... attractive? He had never felt attracted to anyone before. There were people in Bravil who could have been considered pretty, but Martin never knew what people had meant when they said someone was attractive. Others had thought something was wrong with him for never thinking of someone that way. He thought that his lack of sexual attraction was perfectly normal, but that didn’t stop the state of Martin’s love life, or lack thereof, becoming a hot topic in the Bravil Mages Guild.

But maybe that’s just how he experienced such things; very, very rarely.

And perhaps Valerian just happened to be of the very, very rare.


End file.
